


Hemingpoe Ficlets

by SugarAndMarkers



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, Hemingpoe, M/M, Nyxtober, Oh yeah they're gay, One Shot, Pining, i'm turning into a hemingpoe simp can you tell?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarAndMarkers/pseuds/SugarAndMarkers
Summary: Hemingway and Poe being pining idiots because some chaotic dipshits made me start shipping them.
Relationships: Edgar Allan Poe/Ernest Hemingway
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	1. Remind Me Why I'm Not With You

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the Nyxtober Prompt: Forest.

“And remind me again why we’re here?”

Ernest sits under a particularly big tree in the forest. They’ve been out for hours at this point, and Edgar has been walking around the clearing, looking at leaves, ever since they’ve arrived.

“I’m looking for ideas, Ernie. The forest is an enigma, with a thousand possible ideas.”

The nickname makes his heart flutter. Edgar stands a few feet away from Ernest, his neck craned at the sky, a slight smile on his face. It’s a beautiful sight, with the shadows of the leaves, the blue sky, and Edgar. It’s a beautiful sight indeed, and he almost wishes he could see it every day. Edgar looks very pretty, and Ernest forces himself to forget that thought. Ernest shouldn’t think of his friend like that. Especially not a friend with a crush. 

And suddenly Annabel is in the conversation. Well, there isn’t a conversation per se, just Ernest moping around, looking at a pretty man, while said pretty man looks at the sky and at birds, and talks about writing. But still, Ernest can’t stop thinking about her. There are reasons Edgar likes her so much. She probably likes Edgar too. Who wouldn’t? Edgar is a smart, gorgeous man, and seeing him twirling under the sunshine, as uncharacteristic as it might be, Ernest can feel himself falling all over again.

“A thousand possible ideas, perhaps, but how would you use them?”

Edgar turns to see his friend, a slight smile on his face, and Ernest tries to stop his heart beating so loudly. “Now, what is that supposed to mean?”

“Your style and a bright forest in the middle of the day don’t exactly go hand in hand, Eddie.”

Edgar looks at the sky again, almost pensively. He turns to Ernest again and sits next to him. 

“Maybe I’m tired of moping around for a crush that would never like me back. Maybe I could write something happy for once.”

He leans against Ernest slightly, sighing. They sit there, both lost in their thoughts, Edgar’s head on Ernest’s shoulder, their backs to the tree. Ernest could stay here for hours. Maybe with a few things more. He could be holding Edgar’s hand. They could be kissing.

“Why? What happened with Annabel?”

“What do you mean, Annabel? She isn’t my crush.”

That throws Ernest for a loop. If Edgar doesn’t like Annabel, then who does he like? Still, he wants to help his friend. He knows how having an unrequited crush hurts. 

“Can I ask who is, then? I mean, you always talk about her, I’d assume she was your crush. She is very pretty, it would make sense. Hell, you’ve been hanging out more and more with her.”

Edgar chuckles, a low chuckle, like the thunder during Halloween, and Ernest’s heart flips. He’s never heard it from Edgar, yet he wants to hear it again, and again and again. His heart beats louder.

“As pretty as she may be, she isn’t my crush. We’ve just been hanging out more because she’s been helping me deal with my crush.”

Now it’s Ernest’s turn to laugh. But it hides hurt. Why wouldn’t Edgar want to talk to Ernest about his crush? Is he not good enough?

“Well, then what about me? Am I not good enough to be blessed with information about The Edgar Allan Poe’s crush?”  
Feigning hurt to hide hurt, perfect idea. Ernest, you’re a genius.

But then Edgar murmurs something. Ernest can’t quite make it apart, but Edgar stands up, and Ernest’s heart drops. He must’ve done something wrong. What did he do wrong?

“Sorry.”

Edgar doesn’t look back at Ernest. Instead, he walks away, leaving Ernest to wonder what he did. He scrambles up. He can’t let Edgar just go away. He races behind Edgar, his heart in shambles. 

“Eddie! Wait!”

He catches up to Edgar, fear in his eyes. How did he fuck up this time? Edgar turns around, and Ernest’s heart breaks again. He’s crying. He’s crying? Ernest reaches out, putting his hand on Edgar’ arm.

“Why are you crying? I didn’t hear what you said. You did nothing wrong. I won’t be mad if you don’t share your crush with me. It’s ok, I promise.”

Edgar avoids eye contact. He looks so out of place. A pretty man in a pretty place, crying. All because of Ernest, probably.

“I said I don’t talk to you about my crush because you’re him.” 

Edgar mumbles again and looks away. It’s Ernest’s turn to want to cry. He can only hold onto Edgar more. They fall to the ground. They don’t know who pulled the other down, but Edgar can only focus on Ernest now. He just clings onto Edgar and cries. Edgar doesn’t know what to do. Not when your crush / best friend starts bawling his eyes out after you confess your love to him.

But then Ernest kisses him.


	2. Candles And Power Cuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hemingway and Poe pining while fixing a power cut.

The power cut. What kind of luck does Edgar have for his power to cut, as he played a game with his friend. Card games aren’t fun to play if you can’t see the cards.

“I would’ve thought that, for someone with an aesthetic like yours, you’d have a few candles lying around.”

And of course, there’s Ernest. Edgar can’t see him, but he’s probably sitting on the dining room table, swirling a glass of alcohol Edgar served him a while ago, with a smirk on his dumb, kissable, pretty face.

Wow? What was that? That was a weird thought, Edgar. This is your friend, you shouldn’t want to kiss him, right? He pushes the thought away and goes back to looking for candles.

“They’re somewhere in here! Maybe you could help, Ernest.”

“Can’t, I’m too busy looking sexy.”

Edgar hears the familiar sound of Ernest’s flask opening and rolls his eyes. Ernest’s been drinking more lately, Edgar hopes he’s okay. He opens another drawer and finds the candles. He fumbles for the matches and lights the two candles.

Ernest looks beautiful in candlelight. 

Another weird thought, Edgar. He pushes the thought away again and focuses on putting the matches back in their place. As he stands back up, Ernest had already put his flask back in his pocket and took one of the two candleholders.

The dim light from the candles, and the flash of the storm outside, along with Ernest, hand in his pocket, looking straight at Edgar paint a pretty painting. Edgar had never noticed his eyes. They’re hazel. A dark hazel. It’s almost poetic. They seem to be looking through Edgar. It’s a rare feeling. He’s never had this feeling before. He nearly likes it. He could live in this feeling forever. 

The candlelight against your body.

“Where’re we going, Ed?”

Edgar snaps out of the funk he’s been in and looks back at Ernest. Again, he pushes his thoughts away. It’s going to become a habit soon. Still, he can’t help himself looking at Ernest in a new way. He forgets his beating heart and forces a friendly smile on his face. This is his friend, after all. He takes his candle, barely lighting up a meter in front of him. At least he can see Ernest.

The candlelight against your hands.

“The basement. There should be the box there.”

“God, if this is the start of a horror movie, I’m blaming you.”

In the darkness, Ernest shoots Edgar a smile, and oh god, Edgar could melt. It’s nothing different than his usual smiles, but this time, his heart races. Edgar must be getting sick if he’s getting this worked up over nothing. This is nothing. Right? At least Ernest can’t see his blush. 

The candlelight against your hair.

They make their way downstairs, down a few spiral staircases, barely lit. It’s small and slippery, that’s why Edgar and Ernest are holding hands. Edgar doesn’t want Ernest to slip and fall, that’s why. He’s run out of bandages, that’s why. He’s scared for his friend, that’s why his heart beats louder and his breathing hitches whenever he feels Ernest’s breath on his shoulder. 

The candlelight against your face.

Ernest takes another swig of his flask. They’ve fallen back into a comfortable banter as Ernest leans against the wall, and Edgar is on his knees, fixing something or other under the box. 

“Are you seeing anyone?”

The question catches Edgar off guard, and he accidentally burns himself on the hot wax. He shrieks. The candle drops on the floor and is quickly forgotten. Ernest detaches himself from the wall and drops down next to Edgar. He looks at Edgar, fear in his eyes.

The candlelight against your eyes.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry.”

He looks concerned. Scared. Hidden somewhere underneath the cocky, smug, beautiful surface, Ernest cares for Edgar. Normally, Edgar would think about that more, but the burning of his hand and the tears in his eyes bring him back to reality. A few tears fall.

“I just burnt myself, I’m sorry.”

A few tears fall. He isn’t supposed to cry. But this is too much. He hasn’t noticed Ernest slipping out of the room and coming back with a wet cloth. He only notices when Ernest presses it against his palm. He hisses. It hurts more than he expected. 

More tears fall. He can hear Ernest apologising and apologising again. He looks at Ernest through his tears. His eyebrow furrowed, his lips pursed, his hair falling in front of his face. 

The candlelight against your lips.

He leans forward and connects their lips. He doesn’t know what called him to do this. The adrenaline from the burn, the heat from the candles, the salty tears across his cheeks. Their hearts beat as one. Ernest’s hand come to cup Edgar’s cheeks. Their eyes flutter closed together. Edgar moves closer to Ernest. He wraps his unhurt hand around Ernest’s shoulder. 

He could live in this moment forever. It’s perfection.

They make their way back to the dining room. The power has been switched back on. Ernest finds some bandages somewhere, and wraps up the burn, finishing with a small kiss. He looks up at Edgar, who’s sitting on the table, with small, tear-filled eyes. Edgar kisses him.

This is the best day Edgar has had in a while. He leans his head against Ernest’s shoulder. They kiss a lot. They hold hands. They hug. But mainly, they talk. They talk a lot. Edgar could fall asleep listening to Ernest’s voice. 

This is a good day, and Edgar loves it.

The candlelight lighting up my world is you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the Nyxtober prompt: Candles.


End file.
